


A Bit of a Handful

by SerenitysSwirl



Series: AIAU [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Allison prime as director, Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, Project Freelancer, ai as freelancers and freelancers as ai, this takes place in a random moment in time for this au and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenitysSwirl/pseuds/SerenitysSwirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The agents storm an Insurrectionist ship and things go awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of a Handful

**Author's Note:**

> I had most of this written for a while, I just needed to tack on an ending. Anyway, it should be pretty obvious what parts of canon this parallels.

“Careful with your jetpack, Rookie. Wouldn’t wanna end up like Agent Kappa.”

Delta and the other Freelancers were packed into the back of the Pelican, each fixing a jetpack to their back. Theta stood, shifting back and forth, next to Eta. Eta laughs as Theta readjusts the piece of metal sitting on his shoulders.

“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened with Kappa?” Theta whines.

“What did I say? The man’s a legend around here,” York chimes in, popping up in front of Delta in a burst of golden light.

It had been a few weeks since Delta had gotten his AI, but this was their first real mission together. So far, training sessions had went well. York was always a few steps ahead, processing information and throwing anything relevant Delta’s way. York’s casual demeanor had made it difficult to trust him at first. The AI was obnoxious in that he was constantly pointing out Delta’s quirks, or asking questions about the other agents, or silently poking around Delta’s thoughts and memories. It was an uncomfortably personal experience that Delta hadn’t been prepared for. Still, with some training, the pair worked efficiently together. Delta even had high hopes for passing up Gamma on the leaderboard and taking the number two slot.

“What happened to Agent Kappa?” Theta asked again, arms stiffly crossed.

“Come on, everyone,” Epsilon calls from the back of the Pelican, hand steadying himself with one of the seats lining the ship. “We’re almost ready to go. Niner, go ahead and lift the door.”

“Copy that, Agent,” Four Seven Niner says from her position in the cockpit. The door lifts up and out, leaving the soldiers to peer into space, rocks and debris whizzing past them. “Jetpacks. You Freelancers have a fucking death wish.”

Epsilon scoffs, bending his knees and readying his feet. “I like to think we’re just badass. Let’s raise some hell.” They leap from the Pelican one by one in a flurry of color. Delta jumps after their leader, firing off his jetpack and trailing after him. He hears the twins whoop in his ears and Theta yelp as they follow behind.

There was something about space that made movement seem slow even when strapped to a jetpack. Delta had to maneuver a little to avoid any incoming rocks, but their approach to the large Insurrectionist ship felt agonizing until they got close. The ship stretches out above them, mimicking the mammoth size of the _Mother of Invention_. The armored soldiers reach one of the many emergency exit doors of the ship, its entrance illuminated by a few surrounding lights.

Epsilon lands in front of the door with a solid, metal thunk. “Get to it, D,” he says, waving the other agent over. Delta walks to the door as five more pairs of feet touch down behind him, gravity boots kicking in.

York appears next to him, studying the lock. “You got this?”

Delta nods, going to work. “Fairly simple. Give me...two minutes.”

The other Freelancers mill around as they wait, Gamma muttering something under his breath about being able to do the job in only _one_ minute. Delta wasn’t sure about the validity of that statement, but he keeps quiet.

One minute and thirty-five seconds later (York tells him), the door slides open to reveal a long hallway with many branching paths.

Epsilon pushes past him, sapphire armor glinting in the false light. He talks as he walks, motioning with his arms. “You all know your orders,” Epsilon says. “Theta, use the EMP to take out their transportation. Eta, Iota, back him up. Delta and Sigma, find any important information or equipment you can and take it. Gamma, try and hack some of the ship’s computers and destroy anything that isn’t useful. Steal the rest.”

 

 

“I hate to interr--”

“This better be important, Counselor.”

The Director stood in front of several screens, watching as her soldiers fly toward the enemy ship. The circular room held a handful of crewmembers, but none paid them any mind. Mission plans were only known in full by the Counselor and the Director.

The Counselor walks up onto the raised platform the Director was standing on, keeping a respectful distance. “One of our Pelicans was stolen earlier today. A pilot went to take it on an authorized flight and noticed it was gone. We attempted to contact any passengers, but were met with silence. They seem to be heading toward where our Freelancers are now.”

Twisting her head to the side, the Director looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “Do we really need to worry about this?”

“Normally, I would say no,” the Counselor says, glancing at the tablet in his hands, “but we have reasons to believe the pilot of the Pelican is...a bit of a handful.” He puts stress on the last part.

The Director furrows her brow, finally turning to look at him head-on. “Do you have confirmation on that?”

Another glance at his tablet. “Yes. He should be approaching the Freelancers within a few moments. Should we alert them?”

“Son of a bitch,” the Director mutters, running a hand through her blonde bangs. “No. Just tell Epsilon. Let him know to be on the lookout and recover any equipment if he can, by any means necessary.”

“Yes, Director,” the Counselor nods. They both turn away from each other and the Counselor begins to walk toward the door before stopping short. He purses his lips and ventures a question, even though he had an idea of the answer. “What do you think he’s up to?”

There’s a moment of silence. The Director chokes out a bitter laugh. “Hopefully he’ll be dead before we find out.”

 

 

Delta and Sigma carve their way into the heart of the ship, riddling soldiers with bullets and elbows to the face. Shouts could be heard from a distance, a clear sign that their enemies knew they’d arrived.

“Two at your back,” York informs. Delta tosses back a grenade, trusting his AI to handle the projectile. The explosion shakes the metal floor, shrapnel skidding past their feet as they run.

Sigma pulls ahead and peers around a corner. The unfamiliar layout of the ship was disorienting and the blaring lights and warning sirens didn’t help, so Delta let the other Freelancer do the navigating. Sigma cocks his head and beckons Delta with a red-armored hand. “Gamma has informed me that this room should hold some Insurrectionist base coordinates,” Sigma says, pointing toward a door down the left side of the hallway. “Unlock it and guard the entrance while I take a look.”

The two approach the door and Delta gets to work on the lock. York buzzes at the back of his mind, going through a checklist of data: chances of an enemy attacking before he can open the door, amount of time before they have to evacuate, probability of an imprecise lock pick job to trigger guns to emerge from the walls and blow them into bite-sized bits. York wonders if Dehydrated Freelancer Bits would sell as a good Insurrectionist cereal brand. Delta ignores him.

It slides open easily and Delta prides himself on the fact that he’s now unlocked _two_ doors on this mission without tripping some sort of alarm. Delta stays at the door after Sigma enters the room, the sound of feet approaching.

York babbles in his ear. “The closest one will be on your left. There’s two that’ll come from the right.” Delta wastes no time tossing a grenade to his left and pivoting to meet the fire on his right.

The two soldiers flop to the ground like tossed ragdolls as Sigma speaks from inside the room. “I’ve got the coordinates, but there isn’t much else here. Unfortunately, Gamma has been too busy on his own end to direct me to other possible intel. We should head out.”

Delta stays on guard as Sigma joins him in the hall. They dash to the left, Sigma talking into his radio while Delta shoots down the approaching soldiers, York guiding and perfecting his aim. “Two behind you, another coming up around the corner,” the AI says. “Good. Now there’s...wait…” Delta lowers his gun in hesitation as they run, seeing no Insurrectionists and hearing none nearby. They hurry past an intersecting hallway and York yelps. “TURN TO YOUR L--” He slams into the ground before York can finish.

Armor screeches against metal and Delta feels a weight push itself off of him. A soldier in smoky purple was pulling themself up and away, grumbling. Sigma leaps upon the soldier, grabs them from behind, and tosses them aside. Delta stumbles to his feet, head pounding, and levels his gun at his attacker, Sigma doing the same. There’s a beat of silence, the sound of steady gunfire in the distance. The soldier raises their hands in surrender, fluorescent light shifting on their helmet as they tilt their head. Familiar laughter floats from their mouth.

“Omega,” Sigma says, gun still in hand. “I thought you were put in solitary confinement.”

“Oh, I was,” Omega says, voice haughty, a light shake to his shoulders. “They’re fools to think I couldn’t escape. It’s pathetic how much of a pushover my guard was.”

Delta feels York slip away from the conversation at hand, instead checking for incoming Insurrectionists. Trusting his AI to alert him of danger, Delta asks, “Why escape just to follow us?”

With a cackle, Omega lets his hands fall to his sides. “You? Please, don’t use this as an excuse to inflate your massive ego. I’m here to destroy the Director’s little mind games!” He turns to Sigma. “You still have those files handy, I hope.” Delta watches in shock as Sigma lowers his gun with a nod. “Excellent! Now, I really should get going. I hadn’t planned in running into either of you, which was a mistake on Gamma’s part, not mine.”

A door to the side slides open, revealing a hidden corridor. Omega barks a laugh at something from his radio and takes a step forward. Delta jerks his gun at him. “I can’t let you leave, Omega.” He switches to a channel between himself and Epsilon, voice quick and quiet. “Omega is here. Looks like treason.”

Epsilon’s “FUUUCK” almost drowns out Omega’s response. “Be a _peach_ and keep him from shooting me? Thanks.”

Omega darts to the door as Sigma throws himself into Delta’s side. Delta staggers, York snapping back to the forefront of his consciousness. He locks his hands onto Sigma’s forearms, foot swinging through the air and connecting with a solid crack to his ribcage. Delta shoves him away, turning to the open door only to see it closing on him. He lunges, Sigma grabbing at his armor despite his own injuries.

The door slips shut and Delta stumbles into it as Sigma loses his grip. He takes a deep breath, letting York trace Omega’s path through the ship before pulling himself together. “York. Can you get this door open?”

As the AI sets to work, Delta turns to his teammate only to find Sigma swinging a gun down hard on his helmet. The force slams him back into the door again, vision fuzzy, processing only a smear of burnt red. Delta hopes that it’s armor and not blood.

“Alright, I’m on my way with Iota,” Epsilon says in his ear as he slips to the ground in a daze. “Whatever you do, don’t let that motherfucker get away.”

Delta opens his mouth to reply as the gun smashes down a second time.

 

 

“ _Omega_ did all this?”

Sigma blinks up at the Director from his Recovery bed. His ribs were still bruised, but the painkillers were doing their job. The long room had a series of beds against one wall. Theta was asleep a few beds down with a sprained ankle and the curtains were drawn around a bed between them. Delta was there, in a coma, which Sigma was a little sorry for. The medics said he should wake up in the next few days, so he didn’t feel too sorry.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sigma says, focus returning to skeptical eyes. The Director twists her lips. He had no idea why she preferred talking directly to her Freelancers instead of letting the Counsellor handle it all. The Counsellor still hovered in the doorway, watching both of them with an analytical gaze. “He took out Delta while he was covering for me. When I returned to the hallway, he got me as well. He seemed to be in a craze.”

Sigma glances over to the curtains. He needed to talk to Delta before the Director got to him. That would include loitering around Recovery until he woke up, which Sigma didn’t look forward to. Omega had mentioned Delta in their plans to take down the Project. Hopefully the other Freelancer would be on board and they hadn’t blown the whole thing.

The Director nods. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” she says, eyes softening. “Get some rest, Sigma.” Moments like these, she acted almost like a mother. It made Sigma sick.

Sigma sinks back into his pillow as his visitors leave. An angry heat bubbles up into his chest as he listens to the soft snoring of Theta and the beep of Delta’s machines. His eyes slide shut, chill air of the recovery room numbing his face. No, he didn’t hate the players, but was going to tear this game apart.


End file.
